An Epiphany, of sorts
by Arcadya
Summary: Beckett's just realized what should have been completely obvious, only wasn't - to her. One-shot... although I may be nudged into writing a companion chapter. I was nudged.
1. Chapter 1

_I've never written for this fandom before, although I do enjoy the show, the relationship dynamics, and the fanfiction that accompanies it. I wasn't ever goiong write something this year though, because I've been so crazily busy with RL - but this would not let up. Call it cathartic, perhaps?_

_Also, I haven't read Heat Wave, so any mistakes on that front are purely mine, not that I go into it in that much detail. - But it needed to be said...

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I'm not much of a chess player, all those little pieces that can only move in one direction.

Sure, forwards and back, diagonally either way… those tiny, cute horses that go in L-shapes. The sixty-four (or some number like that) squares of black and white, so definite and concrete. Planned. The two opposing forces, black and white, each piece knowing its place and playing the game accordingly.

I get the concept, and of course I understand that the rules need to be followed. The laws of chess; much like the laws of justice. But I guess it's one of those games you play with your grandfather, if you ever play it at all as a child. But also, it's one of those games you play once every blue moon. Of course that whole premise relies upon the fact that you don't have anybody very close to you who plays it. If your family is dedicated to the world of chess, you have multiple boards lying about the house, and everyone in the family knows how to play, talks about strategy and whatnot.

It's like Sporting families versus Arts families, never the twain shall meet and all that, et cetera.

Take Castle for instance.

An Artsy family for sure, can't catch a softball to save his life… is vaguely fit, but only so much in that it keeps his figure in shape, he's not one for the running, and the dodging, and the diving. Or whatever.

Esposito comes from a Sporting family - the kind that don't understand the Artsy families.

I mean, Esposito didn't even know who Castle was in the beginning and even now, he still doesn't read his books. At least Ryan, once having been introduced to the wide world of pulp fiction, got on board… he's probably from a little-of-both family. Or a neither family.

What I'm trying to say here, is that I'm sure loads of people like chess and play it a lot, but my family never really got into it and we certainly didn't have our own board lying about, so I never really had the chance to play or appreciate it that much. I'm sure though, that the tactical nature of the game would probably would help me out mystery wise; it's still not something I've ever put a lot of thought into trying.

So all in all; no big loss.

I've played the game, had some minor wins against other pre-amateurs, but you'd never catch me in the park playing against the geniuses over there.

The point is, and I feel kind of stupid now… the thing is, I didn't connect the dots. I didn't notice the clues, the hints.

I didn't piece the jigsaw together… until now.

And I do feel really stupid, and at some level I understood who Castle was basing his characters off, not too hard to figure it out. I mean I'm Nikki Heat, the African-American best friend who flirts outrageously is Lanie, the two detective side-kicks who play games and razz on Rook are Esposito and Ryan, and Rook Jameson is Castle.

I get it, doesn't mean I have to like it. And obviously I try to tease Castle as much as possible that he's nothing like Rook. Because I'm nothing like Nikki. At least I hope I'm nothing like her, sure she's a strong, ferocious, competent woman… detective, but thankfully she's slutty enough that I'm quite comfortable nobody I know is under any illusion that _that's_ me.

Which is also why I get so angry at Castle's super-fans; they think I am Nikki Heat, sleeping with Castle around page 100. What's that in real time? Four or five days into the investigation?

No thanks.

Ugh!

Now I'm annoyed about that, when really I started out being annoyed about _this!_

Okay, I know I've been working with Castle for a long time now… over a year. And Heat Wave's been out for a while now too, and the next book's lining up to come out. Probably going to be named something really embarrassing like, _In Heat._

But I've just had an epiphany, and to my complete and utter horror, I'm in the middle of the station. Castle's sitting to my left, doing… whatever it is he does while I'm doing paperwork, and I've just had the second biggest shock of my life.

I can't _believe_ I haven't noticed this before. And I call myself a detective.

I'd laugh; if I wasn't so horrified.

I don't even know what it is that's caused me to think about this. To realise this.

And I can't even go to Lanie, because she'd seriously laugh me out of the building and then call everyone she knows to gossip about this. And it's not even worth invoking privacy or best friend privileges because it's so obvious, now that I think about it, that I really should have known this already. That's why she'd have to tell everyone.

If it were around the other way, I know I'd do the same thing to her. It's just one of those humiliations you have to endure. Which means I can't tell ANYONE that I've only just realized this; that I've realised this at all actually.

I'm used to a bit of harmless hazing, I'm a detective at the 12th after all. I wouldn't even be safe from Montgomery if I let this particular cat out of the bag. Maybe even the Mayor.

I sigh.

And unfortunately catch Castle's attention.

"Beckett?"

I still the grimace, "Yeah Castle?" _Ha, take that… okay, I know, weak comeback. Pretending never gets me very far with Castle. I have to be prepared and I'm obviously not._

_He's not buying it_. "Paperwork?" _But apparently he's letting me get away with it._

I decide to go with a little honesty, "Nah, I just realized something."

"Oh?" His intrigued-eyebrow raises, "what?"

Not that much honesty, obviously, "I haven't gone home early in a while…" I quickly stand, grabbing my coat and scampering, as quickly as a nonchalant stride will get me, out of the building.

I don't look back, I don't think, I don't do anything other than get home as fast as possible.

Key into lock, open door, drop bags and coat, kick off shoes… oh my god.

A sort-of depreciating laugh escapes me. My left hand rubs my forehead, it's like I've hit a dead-end on a case, only I haven't… I figured something out, and I have no idea what to do with it.

I'm an idiot. Truly.

How could I not notice this?

And that's when I see it, that's when I remember.

For Christmas, the Christmas after Heat Wave came out, Lanie gave me a travelling chess set.

I thought it was odd, firstly because I don't really play chess, secondly, because I don't really travel and thirdly, well, you can't play chess by yourself.

But it makes sense now. Only I can never tell her that.

I pluck the tiny folded board out from the pile of letters and bills its hiding beneath.

I open it out and rip open the plastic baggie containing the magnetic chess pieces.

Picking up the white castle, I'm being buffeted by the realization that the castle is more or less know as the rook.

Not only did Castle write a novel based on me, he really did insert himself into the novel too. It's not just a joke anymore, an idea I play around with, tease him about, get teased about. He really did make himself _my_ perfect partner, _my_ lover. He's the Rook. He's Rook. I mean I guess I didn't think too deeply about it, just thought it was doing some weird literary version of a homophone. You know Rick – Rook, similar sort of, he was going for a little less than the obvious Rick – Dick comparisons. I reiterate; I'm an idiot. He is Rook. He's the castle. The Castle of the story. _My story_. The one he wrote about me, dedicated to me, wrote for me.

Damn.

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_Short and Sweet._

_I don't really know how this is going to be received, so I'd be pleased if you'd drop me a line and let me know._

_Criticise away._

_And on a completely other note, since I'm being so 'cathartic' - _

_Sadly, this little treasure came to me because I just realized that a Rook is also a Castle. Yep, I am an idiot too…_


	2. Chapter 2

_I got a lot of interest, and so I wanted to reward those lovely reviewers._

_I'm so relieved that a lot of you missed the whole Rick-Rook-Chess connection too, made me feel abundantly better ;) You guys are awesome!

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Beckett was acting strange.

I do a variety of things when she's doing paperwork, but mostly, I simply watch her.

Not creepily, just short of adoringly really.

Of course, I'm never letting anyone outside of my brain know that the acknowledged (on my side at least) physical attraction goes far further than that. I suspect that my mother and Alexis know, possibly even Lanie (but not from any conversations we've had – more that she's Beckett's best friend and don't all girl-best-friend's romanticise male infatuation?).

I acknowledge my attraction to Beckett is more than the physical, flirting and teasing that my public persona likes to do, she truly is extraordinary. I'm just me and the lines I walk are the ones life has sketched out for me. Father. Failed husband times two. Son. Fabulously wealthy and famous mystery writer. Tag-a-long writer/detective. Friend. Pesky annoyance to Beckett. But I know I'm much more than that now.

I'm the one who gets permission to pull her pigtails. I'm the one who stood beside her as she faced down her mother's killer. So sure, I wasn't literally standing beside her, I was actually standing beside the killer at the time, but the sentiment remains, as much as I did not want to die. I think I may have actually… taken a bullet if it meant she got to catch her mother's killer.

She did in way. She got a small step closer to closure. At least she's not wondering _who_ murdered her mother anymore, she's only got the _why_ to figure out now, and I'm going to be there, every step of the way.

If she'll let me.

But back to a more favorable subject. Our attraction.

Oh, I know it goes both ways. She wouldn't keep me around if it didn't. She has some level of love for me, even if it's only brotherly affection – which is totally isn't, for the record. Brotherly affection is what she has for Esposito and Ryan. I'm, well, I'm the love interest obviously. But it's definitely on a slow-burn.

For all of our flirting, and tensioned teasing, I'm the slow moving love interest. I'm the 'in it for the long haul' romantic partner. Even if we haven't made it past the 'work' partners slash humor-predominant vibe yet. We're definitely friends, and for both Beckett and I that's saying a lot.

I know it seems like no small accomplishment to be named a friend of Richard Castle.

But it is.

To be named 'friend' by me – it is.

I have a lot of groupies, a lot of fans, a lot of young and nubile woman throwing themselves and their breasts at me at every opportunity. I have cougars and barely-legals, women who would cut off their right leg to be my girl friend. Hell, some men.

But what I don't have is genuine friends.

It's so difficult to know these days (since I become famous) who my true friends are, who those select few are that I can rely on for more than a good time, or an escort to a book signing, a book release, a book reading, a photo-shoot.

Beckett, Esposito, Ryan, even Montgomery, they're my _friends_. Their other work colleagues too. They may have thought I was simply a publicity stunt in the beginning, or an annoyance that Beckett had to endure, but not anymore. I've proved myself. Even before the incident with Johanna Beckett's killer, I had proved that I helped the precinct in more ways than good press.

I was accepted. For me.

Richard Castle – the man.

Not Richard Castle – the book writer.

Not Richard Castle – the play-boy hunk.

Not Richard Castle – endure him or you're fired.

Just me; Rick.

Castle.

Called by my last name, like every other cop out there. A truer sign, than any, that I belonged. Or at least, was accepted.

Beckett's more than just my friend though. I think she's one of the best friends I've ever had. Perhaps, even, the best.

And that's what I always wanted. To live my life with my best friend; and my family. Oh, never without fun. I'm not going all girly, weepy here, crying over my tub of ice cream and an old fashioned romantic movie – I'm still going to be me, teasing, flirting, sexual innuendo and all. But I'm not about to give up what I've got with Beckett. Not for anything… okay, I would definitely give up Beckett for Alexis, but I doubt she'd ever ask that. She loves Beckett too.

I'm ecstatic that Alexis admires Beckett. They're both amazing women.

Who wouldn't be attracted to Beckett?

… Kate.

I remind myself that I should call her Kate when I'm in this mood. It's going to be awkward once I finally get her to admit to an 'us' and then I can't even move past calling her by her last name.

But, as I reflect, who wouldn't be attracted to Beckett, she's beautiful, extraordinary and wonderful.

Why wouldn't I be attracted to her?

And not to toot my horn, although, yeah, I will. I'm quite the catch too.

Beckett likes me. She's attracted to me as well. There wouldn't be as awesomely flirtatious banter between us if we weren't mutually fascinated.

But I'm well aware that Beckett's not going to cave any time soon, and I'm having too much fun (with her) to push for anything more at the moment. Anything more … lasting … at the moment.

She's not ready, and I'm not ready to destroy what we have right now for prodding her too early.

Beckett gives new meaning to the word – skittish.

So I'm quite content with my adoration… ah, what is the word for just short of adoration?

Actually the word escapes me at the moment - because Rick Castle adoring anyone other than his daughter is not for public knowledge, or private knowledge, at least not without some kind of acknowledgment or response (from her).

Or me.

Actually, I'm just going to forget that I ever thought that … right … now.

See, gone.

Good.

As I was saying, Beckett was acting strange. She'd been poring over something or another when she'd suddenly stilled. I wouldn't have noticed except I was already staring at her. Intently.

I was trying for the umpteenth-gazillion time to correctly, accurately, describe the exact shade of her hair. Maybe with a metaphor or simile thrown in… and the way the fluorescent overhead lights played with the multitude of hues in her eyes, or the luminescence of her skin… ahem.

Where was I?

Oh yes, she paused, for a while. Then blinked a couple of times, and her forehead creased. Cutely. Like it does when she's confused or just realized something she's not entirely comfortable with…

Then she sighed.

So I checked she was okay.

I dropped the ol' paperwork excuse for her, because she uses it far too often. But no, she surprised me. Said she's not left work early in a while and proceeds to basically run from the building.

Now _that_ is too much of an interesting plot twist to leave alone. And I do what all good writers, detectives or P.I.'s (or jealous boyfriends) would do, I follow her.

Just to make sure she's safe.

She goes home, like she said she would. But I'm not content.

I wait outside her apartment door for a while… pondering my next move.

Should I knock, or is that too presumptuous. Believe it or not where Beckett is concerned I'm trying to be respectful of her privacy. I don't want her to block me out again. I'm willing to wait, but she's definitely the kind of character you have to push on once in a while. I just need to figure out if right now is that 'while'.

Courage is not the absence of fear… something, something proverb. Eh, point is, I should knock; if she tells me to get lost – well, it's not the right time. But, hey, I tried.

Although, it could be the right time and… she might think I'm sweet for being concerned about her. Secretly, of course, because it's Beckett.

So I knock.

And the door opens… crap, I should have thought of something interestingly quirky or witty to say.

"Hey, Beckett."

"Castle?" with a silent addition of _what are you doing here?_

How does she do that? She only has to say one word but a whole sentence is there in the subtext. I wonder if she can do that in paragraphs too? That's something I should investigate later.

"Um… he-hey! You left so abruptly I was… well." I scratch the back of my head. Damn, what was I again?

"Are you checking up on me?" She asks with a small, soft smile. Her voice in that attractive little gravelly thing it does.

"No. Yes. Sort-of?" And, I'm blubbering… in for a penny, in for a pound and all that, "You seemed a little lost right before you left. And I just didn't want you to be alone if it was something major, or minor, or you know, just something you needed another body around for, and hey, I'm a body!"

She does that face again, the one she does when she thinks I'm being sweet. But I can never let her settle for too long in that thought, not until she knows me better. Knows me all the way better; if you know what I mean. Quick, think of something sarcastic and/or salacious to say.

"A good looking body…" I add the voice-leer. The one I've had an inordinate amount of practice perfecting. Basically, it's all in the tone of voice, there's no accompanying physical gestures or looks, but the underlying intent, the subtle (or overt) innuendo thick beneath the pitch.

"We could just give into the sexual attraction that's rife between us!" I smirk then, knowing (from past experience) that she'll be put off balance.

She grabs the lapel of my coat and yanks me inside.

CRAP!!!

Shit, what's going on?

I was mostly joking…

Although I really would love to give into the attraction between us, I don't think either of us is ready for anything more serious right now. And while I'm sure it would be loads of fun and other things, I'm not sure I want to risk ruining what we have for tonight's rumble. Besides, Beckett… well, that's it really. It's Beckett.

I find I can't - don't - want this to be the start of what I know will inevitably become US.

I seriously doubt she's the kind of woman that would even do the one-night thing, I mean she could have had me after our first meeting – no questions asked – and she didn't, she chose to walk away. What did she say once? One and done. I know we were talking marriage then, but the same probably applies to dating, of the one-night variety.

So that's definitely a no-go zone at the moment.

Or maybe I should just go with the flow and enjoy it while I have the opportunity?

Well, that's just my libido talking there. So I'm going to have to ignore you little buddy.

While I've been contemplating all things Beckett-related, she's let go of my lapel and coat and is sitting down.

Isn't that a wonderful image, Play-Boy Rick Castle stunned into paralysis by his muse…

That's when I notice she's not in the mood for any hanky-panky tonight. I'm caught in an interesting mix of relief and sorrow…

Thankfully the literary gods have deigned to give me a reprieve, I notice a tiny chess set resting on her coffee table.

"Chess?" I inquire.

"Lanie gave me a set as a gift. Do you play?"

"Do I play?" I scoff, "I'm the maestro of chess."

"Really." She seems way more amused than she should. "We should play then."

She's not a natural, I have to say. There's no rhyme or reason to how she plays. She knows the rules, but she avoids using her Rooks. She'll back away from my Rooks too. She likes the Knights but I've yet to meet a female that didn't. I haven't the faintest idea what's going on and she's taking the greatest pleasure in it too.

At seeing my expression of utter confusion, she laughs.

The noise distracts me, she doesn't laugh nearly as much as she should. As much as I want her to.

Then she goes on the offensive.

She starts uses every available piece. The lack of her use of Rooks before has left many a space on my side of the board wide open.

She's evil.

An evil, vindictive woman.

I think I'm even more attracted to her now than I was one hour ago.

I have to say, it's a worthy strategy. She kills me, easily.

As I knock my King over in acknowledgement of defeat I hope that it was actually my subconscious letting her win. My ego might not be able to handle losing to an amateur…

But I am usually honest, even if only to myself, I didn't let her win.

She got me so confused and baffled, that when she finally decided to actually play the game I was blind-sided.

Didn't stand a chance.

Thankfully, she doesn't gloat _too_ much. Just the right amount, but it's still ego-destroying.

I'm just about to mention that maybe I should go home, after all I certainly don't want to wear out my welcome when Beckett asks me if I'm hungry, and would I like to stay and have dinner with her.

Of course I say yes. I'm not an idiot.

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_Would love any and all thoughts, even criticisms, I'm not going to get any better at the fiction, and the writing, if you don't inform me of your thoughts!_

_Thanks, Arc  
_


	3. Chapter 3

_So this chapter starts a little bit before the last one ended off._

_Hopefuly I'm going to be able to keep writing these as Beckett/Castle/Beckett/etc - although I am toying with throwing in someone else's view point every once in a while. We'll see._

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I try to keep a straight face, as Castle's look of complete and utter bafflement grows with every insane move I make.

He definitely can't figure out where I'm going with this game, and I absolutely love it. Most of our relationship is of one-up-man-ship, of keeping the other off balance. It just so happens that this time is my time to be putting him off balance. I'm certainly not going to apologize for it or try to give him a reprieve. I really do want to win this chess game. Especially because he thinks he's the maestro of the game.

I'm not that great at chess actually, but I've already got him thinking more about what the hell I'm doing than the actual tactical nature of this game. I've got him thinking more about me than about his strategy, and if he's not thinking about his strategy, then I don't really need to have one, do I?

I'm having fun, but he is slowly starting to take more of my pieces. I can't let this go on for too long. Otherwise, he'll win simply because I don't have any positions left on the board.

So, I decide to start playing for real.

Lull him into a false sense of security then you bring out the big guns.

Isn't that the way to play all games? It's a small but useful tactic to use especially when you're the only female on a team, whether that be with cops, baseball or board games. If they underestimate you then that's definitely their fault, not yours – especially when you decide to eventually take advantage of that fact.

I move my Knight again, L-shaping it one row forward and to the left. I'm sure if I were playing with a genius or someone who played chess often they'd be trying to get me to use the letter and number sequence. You know, Knight to J8 or some kind of designation like that, but I don't actually know those configurations so… you'll just have to imagine how the game went.

Castle moves his Bishop.

I move a Pawn.

He takes my Pawn.

I stifle my smile. Perfect.

In comes the Rook. Bishop falls.

There's a flurry of white and black movements.

Move, move, fall, take, move, fall, move, move.

(My Rooks rock!)

Take, fall, move, move, move back in the last position, lull, wait, poach, move; ha!

Black King falls.

Finally.

I win!

I smile triumphantly.

Castle is still looking bewilderedly at the board.

It's kinda cute.

At least he's not asking for a rematch.

At least he's taking his defeat like a man. I like that he doesn't mind losing to me. That I can beat him, and he's okay with that.

"What's wrong Castle?" I press.

"Huh?"

"Did the maestro lose the beat?"

"Yes, yes, I bow to your magnificence in the game of chess."

"As you should, Castle. As you should."

He's being quite calm about his defeat, and letting me gloat a bit. He's smiling depreciatingly and looking at me like he's thinking up a million things to do with Nikki Heat.

All of a sudden, I just know that he's about to mention going home.

But I'm having too much fun to let Castle go just yet.

He's so deliciously confused. I know that what's bothering him isn't that I've beat him, it's more that he can't quite figure out _how_ I beat him. He's going back over the strategy, the moves I made, or didn't make.

I giggle once more. I've done that a lot tonight. Laughed.

That's when I ask Castle to stay.

For dinner.

Just when the Beckett-Brain is about to complain: it's not appropriate, he should really go home, he's been here too long already, what would Ryan or Esposito say, crap what would Lanie say?

But by then I just can't bring myself to care what this looks like, I want him to stay for dinner. So he should.

It's too late for second thoughts now anyway, he's already said yes. I can't very well ask him to leave now, can I?

I get up relatively quickly, I need to put a little bit of space between me and him. For some reason, now that I've asked and he's said yes, there's a new vibe in my place. It's like we've just said yes to something else, something different, something way more important than a simple dinner.

But Castle follows me.

"Hey," I laugh, "I'm cooking dinner. You'll just mess it up."

"I'm actually quite the chef in the kitchen." He responds.

"Too many cooks spoil the broth." For some reason I'm entirely willing to NOT look into, I don't want him anywhere near me right now. I'd prefer if he kept me entertained from outside of my kitchen.

"Two heads are better than one."

"I don't think that that really applies to..." before I can seriously object, he's already in my kitchen - pottering around behind me.

"So, what are we making, my fair detective?"

"I was thinking Spaghetti Bolognese. There's some meat in the fridge." I use my leg to kick in the direction of the fridge. I'm already organizing the pots and pans.

We don't talk.

It's not really necessary; Castle's browning the meat, I'm getting the sauce made. I make my own. Sometimes I buy it, but not tonight. I'm in the mood for using real red wine for this dinner.

Before I know it it's time to throw the spaghetti and sauce into their pots. It means Castle and I are cramped up next to the stove. Together.

I don't think anything of it at first.

I hand him the sauce and while he attacks the meat with that, I'm throwing (delicately placing) the spaghetti (fettuccine) into the boiling water. It shouldn't take too long, and by that point the sauce and meat will be perfectly ready.

We're standing by the stove, hip to hip. We've stood like that loads of times at the precinct, when we're talking or figuring something out. But we haven't really just stood, especially while doing something mundane and so normal.

Every so often there's a shuffle, Castle pushing the meat around in the pan, me making sure that the bubbles of the water don't 'bubble' up too much and overflow the pot. I can hear the whir of the overhead fan, and Castle's breathing. We've never been this close in silence before, especially not when we weren't thinking of anything in particular.

All of sudden, that romantic attraction feeling descends on me. You know the one you get sometimes, when you're with someone and either you're attracted to them, or they are to you. And you can just _feel _it. Its way more awkward when they're attracted to you and you're just not, but this feeling isn't like that feeling. This one is the both sides involved feeling. I don't want this to come up now. There's always been a flirtation between us. Nobody's denying that. But that's just Castle. He flirts with everyone. He flirts with Lanie in the morgue. He flirts with his ex-wife, if you want to call randomly having sex every couple of years 'flirting'. He flirts with the public and his agent. He'll flirt with me too, and it is fun, because it's harmless. We both know that. No matter how many times he alludes to something more, I know he is well aware that that isn't going to happen.

So I really don't need to worry too much about this feeling, this atmosphere having too much effect on either one of us. Because I've made it perfectly clear to Castle. 'We' are not happening.

I redirect my focus to the cooking and try not to move.

But this feeling make me swallow.

A quick glance to Castle, and he doesn't look like he's paying any attention to me.

Randomly, and without conscious thought, I lick my lips.

I hope to god he's not watching me at the moment.

I'm just about to pull away, with some petty excuse on the tip of my tongue, when he interrupts me.

"Hey, Beckett. I think it's ready."

_Does his voice sound gruffer than usual?_

"Great." Damn, that was definitely raspier than usual.

I clear my throat. "Could you get the bowls?"

"Which cupboard? Believe it or not, this is the first time I've been in this kitchen. The remodeled version."

"It's not remodeled. It's completely new." I'm completely baffled by that statement, "Castle! I had to move… after…"

"I know." He responds simply, "but it is a new kitchen. And this apartment still feels very much like you. So I'm just going to remain thinking that that whole Nikki Will Burn – Apartment getting Blown Up thing never happened."

"Even though you got to bust down my door?" I pause, that didn't sound quite right.

Castle can feel it too.

"It was pretty heroic." He smirks, and lets the moment pass, "how about we only remember the good things of that case?"

"What good things?" I tease, as I move the drained spaghetti into the bowls.

"Agent Shaw." He sighs, "oh and when you moved into my apartment."

Indignantly I reply, "I did _not_ move into your apartment."

"You made me breakfast. Bacon and scrambled eggs."

"I made Alexis breakfast."

"She was still asleep."

"Well it was intended for her. You just swooped in."

"I didn't swoop."

"Like a seagull."

"I do not swoop like a seagull."

"You eat like one too." _And there we go… we've descended into third grade territory. Next will come: I know you are. You said you are. But what am I?_

"We'll see about that." He exclaims. He grabs both our bowls and heads back to the lounge room. He plonks the bowls down and pushes the game out of the way. "Come on Beckett. Dinner time."

I scowl at him; he purposefully made that sound like he was talking to his cat or dog.

"If you start hitting the side of that bowl with your fork, I'm kicking you out."

"Duly noted." Damn, he even added a salute then.

I slouch down on one end of the sofa. Castle takes up residence on the other side, and I realize I've kind of come to expect that that side of any seat, sofa, desk or bench is _his_. When did that happen? Even in the elevator that's his side.

We eat and chat, not about anything too important; just life, randomness and the everyday. It's nice. He makes me laugh, and we banter. It's relaxing to not have to be discussing a case, or trying to figure out a mystery, or having to be annoyed with him.

I mean, I love figuring out the whodunits. It's fulfilling. But not everything can be about _that_. You need some… release. Some reprieve. I used to get that from Castle's books, among other authors too. But with me being Nikki – or whatever – I can't get the same level of other worldliness that I used to. I can't shut off my brain, because I'm too involved in the story lines, picking up the things he's made up or the things he's used. Wondering how much of Nikki is me, and how much is his fantasy.

Now I can't escape. I can't escape from my life into a world that's based on my life, on me. It just doesn't work that way. But I'm finding that being around Castle is having a similar 'calming' effect on me. I'm relaxing more in his presence than I ever could have in his books. Is that strange?

It is, isn't?

I think…

I sigh. And once again catch Castle's attention.

This time though he asks a different question, "Tired?"

"A little. Weird day." _Lie_. Or understatement, either way I'm not telling him!

"Stretch out then." He pats the cushion near his hip.

For the life of me I can't figure out what he's trying to accomplish, but I am tired, and it's going to take more effort than I have at the moment to get him to leave, and then to get myself ready for bed. So I do as he asks.

My feet end up in his lap. I've left my mostly empty bowl on the coffee table, and am sliding down the arm rest onto the cushion I had propped behind my back.

I am so relaxed right now.

For a minute I get the strangest idea that Castle's going to massage my feet. I'm caught between this weird desire for him to do it, and utter horror at the thought that he will. Because what will that mean, and how will that change our friendship?

And do I really want our friendship to be changed in that manner? And what if Castle doesn't want it to change either, but he accidentally does something that means I'll have to address it, and then it will just be really strange, or wonderful. But the point is I don't want anything to change. Not really. So, please Castle. Don't massage my feet, even though I'd really like you to…

Thankfully, or regretfully, he doesn't. Merely rests his hands around them, keeping them warmed.

The wine I drank with dinner and the wine in the dinner are causing my tired brain to go fuzzy. The warmth of Castle's hands and the darkness and hum of the night is pulling me under, into sleep.

I let go.

*

**

*

Movement.

I'm being moved.

I start to fidget, struggle a little bit, but something is holding me together.

Holding me back.

"Shhh, Kate." I hear a voice murmur.

Strong arms are wrapped around my body. And they are sooo comfortable. But I know there shouldn't be any one here. Especially a male. I've finally figured out which sex the voice belongs to… or there's a really gruff female carrying me to my bedroom.

Yikes! I suddenly realize this can't be right at all. The only person I've really let into this house lately is Lanie, and she's certainly not strong enough to carry me to my bed.

I tense, and the person holding me notices too.

"Shhh, Beckett, it's just me. Castle." I can hear his breaths. Carrying me isn't tiring him out at all. Just how strong is he?

"You fell asleep after dinner, and while I do so love watching you work, watching you sleep was getting to be a little too much of a creepy thing to do. I thought I'd pop you into bed and call you tomorrow morning."

His voice is so melodic and comforting. Beautiful really, like it is when he's creating a back story for one of our suspects. But this time instead of suspense and murder, his voice is full of love… affection, caring. It's the voice he always uses with Alexis.

I guess I'm more tired than I thought; imagining Castle cares about me as much as he does Alexis. At any rate, I do trust Castle. And I'm way too tired to try and force him to let me walk to my bedroom. I just hope he doesn't use this opportunity to rifle through my underwear drawer.

I remember as he's lowering me into my bed that I didn't actually make it this morning, thankfully my lack of tidiness is making it easier for Castle to put me to bed. Instead of having to try and pull the covers out of the way, he can just plop me into the space I left and cover me back over.

I crack open one eye, it's dark. He didn't even turn the light on. Should I have noticed that earlier? Just what time is it?

"Night Kate." He whispers. One lone finger tracing my face from forehead to jaw.

Does he think I'm still asleep? Should I answer?

I think I should say goodnight too, but when I try an incoherent mumble tumbles out.

I hear my bedroom door whoosh close. A few footsteps and Castle is out the front door.

I think something important may have just happened, but my sleep rattled brain can't make sense of the information it has.

Maybe it doesn't matter…

Not right now at least…

I can deal with it in the morning…

If I remember…

* * *

_Hope I lived up to expectations, there's nothing worse than falling short._

_Arc, let me know your thoughts. Criticisms always appreciated.  
_


	4. Chapter 4

_I wanted to move the story on a little bit more from here. But Castle just would not LET me. And who am I to say no to Mr. C?_

_It's slower than the others. But I don't know... I like it. We'll see what you have to say, shall we?

* * *

  
_

Closing the front door carefully and quietly, I ponder the wonderfully strange night I've just had at Beckett's.

She confused me utterly, but I had a fantastic time.

Most of all the time I spend with Beckett is fantastic. That much should be obvious by now. I wouldn't have written a best-selling novel with her as the main character if she wasn't fantastic, or at the very least somewhat, completely, interesting to me.

I do remember reading a quote by Jane Austen. She remarked that she didn't think her book _Emma_ was going to be very popular, mainly because she didn't think that anybody besides herself would actually enjoy the character. I can definitely understand that feeling, not in relation to Beckett though. I think everyone who comes into contact with her thinks she's wonderful. My mother and Alexis were won over by the first meeting, and even though they usually like to tease me about my infatuations… this time they didn't.

I think that says a lot about Beckett as a person. They respected her. They liked her. They approved. Even if nobody, at the time, realized how far along my infatuation with her would go. They gave the go ahead. She got the proverbial green light. Before, even, I would realize that there was more to Beckett than a beautiful face, great body, witty mind, and a sultry undertone (the perfect mix for a great main character).

I do enjoy spending time with Beckett. Even when she's annoyed at me, even when she's yelling at me, when she's not talking to me, when she's being pestered by me, teasing me, I enjoy every minute of my time with Beckett. The only time I don't enjoy Beckett is when I'm not spending time with her… I don't particularly want to go through that again. A weekend is about as long apart as I'm willing to entertain at the moment. Even that's a bit of stretch. AND we're not even dating yet!

I'd call myself whipped even though I know I'm not.

Getting any of the perks, that is.

So, I obviously love spending time with Beckett. I wouldn't have waived away my legal rights, if I didn't find her interesting and wonderful. I think everyone was well aware of my baser intentions right from the start. Except maybe Beckett; she probably thought I was out to pester and annoy.

But I enjoy being with her, I enjoy the mystery, the murder, the flirting. But this was new.

This evening was new, different, and wonderful.

She relaxed with me.

I've seen her upset, angry, hurt, mischievous, a little jealous, outraged, indignant, annoyed, sultry, Russian and deliberate. But I don't think she's ever truly been relaxed around me.

I think I had thought she was relaxed in my presence before. But I now realize I was wrong. I don't truly think she has ever been totally relaxed around me before.

Oh, she's _seemed_ relaxed. She's _seemed_ in absolute ease with her apparent lack of control. But I don't think she has ever truly been relaxed in my presence.

I've been trying ever since I met her to get to know the real Detective Beckett. The real woman beneath those clothes… and not in the slightly sexual way that thought sounded.

I want to know everything about Beckett.

About Kate.

I certainly got a peek into Beckett tonight.

Again not with the sexual connotations that thought had either.

She actually and completely relaxed with me there, tonight.

She fell asleep for goodness' sake.

With her feet in my lap.

I so dearly wanted to move that part of our relationship forward. And if Beckett had been any other woman, I would have tried to as well. But since it was Beckett, and I'm trying not to rush things, I didn't. And she fell asleep.

She trusted me enough to fall asleep

She trusted me enough to fall asleep with me (Richard Castle) in the same room.

She trusted me enough to fall asleep (in the same room) basically 'on' me!

Of course, I don't think she meant to fall asleep.

Certainly not on the sofa, pinning me beneath her feet. But she just seemed so relaxed, and she certainly seemed tired too. So I had no objections to being used as a foot cushion. It gave me a wonderful image to look at too.

A sleeping, relaxed Beckett. Dim lights, empty food bowls, empty wine glasses, a completed board game strewn across the coffee table. It was the perfect ending to a date. Not that this night was a date, but I could certainly write a date night like one of those in my books, only with sex. A lot more sex.

But life is rarely like my books. I don't get to control the characters, or what they say or do. I certainly have no control over Beckett. She surprises me more and more often. I'm grateful for that. For her.

I will cherish the memory of putting her to bed for the rest of my life.

No matter what happens.

She's a tall woman, I never deny that. But she's surprisingly light. Not light like Alexis is, but she's in no way heavy. I carried her easily.

And I won't deny that it was an ego boost for me, and perhaps even a foreshadowing of our future? _Wishful thinking, but perhaps…_

At any rate, I got a peek, legitimately, into Beckett's bedroom. Not that I could look around a whole lot, because I didn't turn the light on. I didn't want to wake her up anymore than I already had by moving her. I would have expected a cop, like Beckett, to be more worried about someone moving her around her own house. But I also am not disappointed she let me carry her. I'll probably never get as close to her, physically, again in a while. I need to take my doses of Beckett when I can.

I realize that this makes me sound slightly creepy, and probably even somewhat addicted. In a way I suppose I am. I can't even conceive of what my life would look like (be like) with her in it. Truthfully, I don't want to even imagine it either. I like Beckett in my life, and I'll take her any way I can get her.

This is about the time I realize I'm still staring at my closed front door. _From the inside of my apartment._

"Is this a new strange version of the after midnight tiptoe celebration?" An amused voice asks.

"Mother." I sigh. So much for me coming home under the cover of darkness.

"Or regret?" She adds.

"Mother…" The stress in my tone tells her that I do not want to get into this debate right now.

"Darling, both Alexis and I are well aware that you are by no means celibate. There is no need to skulk into the house when you think we are both asleep." I turn and find she's drinking wine in the kitchen. She's in her robe, fluttering about like Madame Butterfly. She must have been over visiting Alexis, and decided to wait up for me.

"I'm not skulking into the house." I reply, slightly indignant at the thought, "and you're not even supposed to be here. You supposed be at Chet's." You would think that living in another home with your 'boyfriend' would mean less time spent at your son's abode. But no, not with my mother.

She makes a dismissive sound at my clumsy attempt to distract her, "Richard, there is no need to hide from your family."

"Mother, I'm not hiding." I move away from the door at this point and walk towards the kitchen. I might as well face my accuser.

"I was at Beckett's."

Her entire demeanor changes; a huge grin graces her face, "That's fantastic! I'm so relieved. I thought I was going to have to throw you two together myself."

I laugh (it's forced), "No, Mother. Nothing like that."

"Oh." Once again her entire demeanor changes; I swear sometimes that woman is trying to live a vicarious second life through me. Isn't her first life already filled with enough excitement?

"I don't understand the two of you. Not one bit. What were you doing then?"

"Playing chess."

"Chess?" Her years of theatrical expertise serving her well, her slight disbelief, yet unknowable knowledge that I am, in fact, telling the truth about my evening foreshadowed by merely her tone of voice and a slight eyebrow lift.

"Chess." I concur.

"Oh." There doesn't seem to be much to say after that point. At least I hope there isn't any more. I don't really want to get into the lack of Beckett/me romantic liaisons at the moment. I really should start thinking Kate/me romantic liaisons. I do want there to be a Kate and me future. I really do. But I know I need to be patient. Of course, I'm going to push her occasionally, see how close to that precipice she is… but I definitely don't want to push her too close or so fast that she freaks out and I lose ground. That would be worse.

Thankfully, Mother seems to know that I'm not in the mood for any more talk. It must be obvious that there something more important going on in my head tonight. She's always been well aware that sometimes I need to reflect, and sometimes I need to babble incoherently to another person to get my epiphany.

We both retire for the rest of the night, what's left of it.

* * *

_You gotta love the Martha!_

_Anybody who doesn't, drop me a line and let me know why... It'll intrigue me if nothing else!_

_Arc. Remember flame away if you so desire. ;P  
_


	5. Chapter 5

_This chapter's a little different to the others. It's still in first person, but it lacks an overall 'description'. I guess it's almost a stream of consciousness_.

_Basically it serves the purpose of moving the story forward. The guts of the story anyway. I've had a lot of 'please hurry up with the romantic nature of their relationship' pleas. _

_I'm attempting to acquiesce to those desires ;)_

_

* * *

_

I'm alone when I wake.

I'm relieved, and slightly disappointed.

It's not that I wanted Castle to be with me in my bedroom. Our relationship isn't ready for that kind of intimacy, but I was kind of hoping that he slept on my couch again.

It's not even that I didn't want Castle with me in my bed… I think. At least, I think I didn't _not_ want him in my bed.

All I know is that I woke in the middle of the night, after he had put me to bed and I wanted him to be in my apartment. I wanted to get up and talk to him. I wanted to know that he was here, around if I needed him or wanted him.

Is it strange that I'm likening my affection for him to some sort of talking security blanket?

I guess, mostly, I wanted him to be at my place so I could make sure we were on the same page. Not that I actually know what that page is at the moment. Or even what book we're reading from.

At first I thought it was just some random mystery novel. Novella? Short inconsequential story?

Then it was the mystery/crime/situational comedy novel.

Then it was crime/unresolved sexual tension/comedy novel.

Now I have no idea what type it is, or even what type I want it to be.

The thing is though, I don't want him misunderstanding were we are in our friendship.

I don't want him misunderstanding what I want from our friendship, what I want with him… even if I'm not quite sure myself right now.

I do know that I don't want him to… well, I don't want him to give up.

I know that he's been pretty persistent. I know that he's prodding me as carefully as he can, nudging me toward accepting him when he finally makes that move I don't like to think about.

I also know that while he's waiting for me at the moment, he's not going to wait forever. I wouldn't want him to wait indefinitely when there's no indication that anything's going to change … I'm not that cruel. But hell, I don't want to wait forever either.

I just don't think I'm ready yet.

I don't think that I can handle anything _more_ than what we've got right now.

But I want it.

I want to be able to 'handle' more.

I mean, really. It's only been … twelve hours … since I realized the implications of Castle's book. The underlying thoughts and feelings that he's put in there; that I previously, and quite stupidly, didn't notice.

Lanie's going to laugh her ass off when she realizes what's happened. And, I know now, I'm going to have to tell her. Because I don't have anyone else I can talk to about this.

I can't talk to my father. That's not something we do. Ever since Mom.

I can't talk to Martha, because she'd fight too hard to get us together. I do think that it's sweet, but … I need uncomplicated help and unbiased sympathy. Not that Lanie's going to be unbiased… but she'll try.

I need a murder board.

I need to put all my thoughts out there, all my ideas, my questions, my beliefs and theories.

And then I need to get the biggest, fattest, reddest marker I can find and slash through all the things that aren't going to help me.

Do I even have one of those white-board's at home?

I decide I need to deliberate over this for while.

I use the time in the shower to think.

It's always an interesting experience for me to shower now. There's always that slightly disconcerting thought that I'm going to get out of the shower and my apartment's going to explode. I know it's unlikely, but it's already happened once now.

There's definitely an element of fear to showering.

I used to have a girlfriend in high school. She got stuck in an elevator. Only for a couple of hours, but she grew a small fear of them. Every time she'd get in one, because she was a proud and determined person - she'd still go in them. But she'd experience a shock of fear. That stupid thought that the elevator would stop, that she'd be stuck, however many storeys up. That nobody would come for her, even though when she was actually stuck, someone did come for her. She knew it was insane, and unlikely, and irrelevant to _every_ elevator, but the fear was still there. She worked hard to overcome it. Old elevators are the worst; because they bounce, and creak, and make menacing noises. So sometimes, she concedes defeat and won't ride them, but for the most part, she does. And I'm proud of her for it.

But, I now know what it feels like to have an irrational fear. It's not bad. I can still function through the day. I can still work. I don't have an irrational irrational fear. I don't think that all showers mean there's going to be explosions. That everybody who showers is going to get their house or apartment blown up. I don't even truly believe that when I shower there's going to be an explosion. I just have this ominous feeling that something bad is going to happen when I have my shower. I know it probably won't, but like I said, I've been _bitten_ once. I have had that shower that was followed by an explosion. I know now that it's not outside the realm of possibility.

But back to my murder board dilemma.

I don't have a whiteboard. What would I use it for? Home is for not thinking about mysteries and making decisions. Home is for relaxing.

And I can't relax.

Not when I have these feelings and thoughts running through me.

Now when there's Castle on my brain. His words and his ideas, his wishes, typed out for the world to peruse, a copy of it lying on multiple nightstands, leaning on multiple bookshelves.

I don't know what I want. Or don't want.

I don't know how to decide. Or find out.

This is why I need help.

It would be so much easier if I knew what I wanted. Or maybe I already know what I want but not how much?

Maybe I'm struggling so much because I've already made the decision. I have to act on it now. That's always the worst part isn't it? Knowing what you have to do, and then actually doing it. They're very different things.

Have I made my decision?

Okay… point one: I am attracted to Castle. Physically.

Point two: He's practically my best friend.

Point three: I like his family, and consequently they like me.

Point four: We have something. That zing. It's obvious to everyone, including me. That little something extra, more than just physicality; there's a _thing_ we have. A _something_.

Point five: He wrote a book about me.

Point six: He paid a lot of money to help me find my mother's killer.

Point seven: He did the right thing, even when he thought/knew I'd kick him out of my life.

Point eight: He fixed my father's watch. (And broke down a door for me)

Point nine: He makes life fun. I need that.

Point ten: He's exceptionally and uncannily sensitive.

Point eleven: I do like him.

Point twelve: Crap.

I don't even mean that in a friendship way.

That was totally more than a friendship like.

Damn-it.

So my mental murder board has given me an answer.

Am I going to do anything about it?

No.

The murder board is glaring at me. Large, bolded, red letters scream the two letter word at me.

No. I'm not going to do anything about it.

I can see myself in the middle of the station, pondering the murder board. A picture of Castle up there. His annoying face smirking at me from a glossy snapshot. All my thoughts and reasons and feelings, they're up there too. Like some demented time line.

I'm peering at the board wondering why the heroine of the story is not going to go after the protagonist… and the answer hits me dead on.

I'm scared.

I'm terrified of what will happen.

Actually I'm scared of what _won't_ happen. I'm scared that Castle might be my one and done. I know that he's been married before. Twice. But from all accounts, including his own, they were whirlwinds, rebounds, rebounds of rebounds, unfinished romances. Why else does Deep Fried Twinky (DFT) keep coming back? Why does he keep letting her?

He wants a family.

He wants that security unit.

He has his matriarch.

He has his daughter.

But he's still searching for his queen. Or whatever the female equivalent of a Rook is…

Do I want to be that?

I wish this thinking about the murder board hadn't just given me another epiphany. There should be some sort of quota for epiphanies. You shouldn't be able to get more than one a month.

Especially about emotional things.

Murder epiphanies are fine, welcome even, this one is not.

It's unfair.

And annoying.

And revelationary.

And life-changing.

And now I have to go into work, and see Castle.

Who is completely and blissfully unaware.

I hate him.

That's when I decide I'm going with anger today.

* * *

_Poor Castle._

_That's all I was thinking when I finished writing this chapter._

_Poor guy, he's so not going to know what's hit him, or understand the Frosty Beckett. AND it's not even his fault!_

_Arc.  
_


	6. Chapter 6

_I don't know if many of you realize just how hard it is to write in first person… but it is quite hard. _

_So, as I said I might fiddle around with other points of view, I have. Only this character isn't one you might expect. Or expect at all really… considering.

* * *

_

They needed me to come in and sign some forms. Double check all my information and my thoughts and other remembrances of things as being correct, accurate, what I meant when I wrote them; and of course, if I remembered anything else that might even possibly pertain, to add that in too. Just in case. Apparently you can never have too much superfluous information when recording an incident.

Oh, for the police that is.

I'm currently in the elevator of the police station, the 12th precinct.

It's not huge thing, which is why the Detective… Ryan, I think. Last week, said that I could come in later that week sometime. But I forgot.

I didn't mean to, but my ageing uncle was moving house and needed my help, and then my forgetful, dimwitted cousin had to get his dog washed, but the pup (and I say pup when he's about the size of a small Harley Davidson) wasn't cooperating so he needed my help.

And then my front door decided it didn't like my keys anymore, so I had to call a locksmith to come and open my door for me (our super was away for his annual holiday and hadn't left the copies with anyone), but that meant that I couldn't get into my house for two days, so I had to stay at a friend's, without a change of clothes (or any clothes for that matter). So I had to quickly buy some more clothes that were 'work' quality, and I don't really have that kind of spare change lying around at the moment.

All in all, I haven't had the best of weeks. But at least once I get this police thing out of the way I should be able to relax for a bit. I hope so anyway.

Oh, the doors are open. I hope they haven't been like that for too long. That would be embarrassing.

Detective Ryan isn't in, neither is his hot partner. Just another reason this week isn't going well.

I'm feeling really bizarre and out of place. Standing in the middle of this bustling room, cops and criminals circling the waters like shark and chum.

I've almost convinced myself I should just come back tomorrow when a really beautiful, and astoundingly tall, woman walks up to me.

I'm really short. Barely 5 foot. So I feel kind of like a gnome in front of her; only without the retarded red hat and beard.

"Detective Kate Beckett." She says, shaking my hand like I'm someone important. I'm just a receptionist working her way through university. Slowly.

"Sandy. Uh, Sandra Costas." I'm not usually the nervous type, but standing next to this Glamazon isn't doing anything for my nerves.

"Oh yes, you're here to double check the witness report for the Landron case." She smiles them, but it's a delicate smile. The type you give to someone who's just lost their pet dog.

I'm not insulted, I can tell she's truly apologetic about the incident, and she also knows that I don't actually have any great information pertaining to the case. I was only in the wrong place at the wrong time (for me, I'm sure the police are thankful I missed that train) and happened to see the criminal running away from the scene of the crime. About twenty other people also saw the criminal running away. Sadly though, I happened to be the second closest, and the only person who got a good look at him. The reason I happen to be the best candidate for witness statements and not that person who was the closest?

I didn't fall over; and consequently, not see anything.

"Yep, that's me." I smile a little. It's always nice to be pleasant. But I really just want to get this over and done.

"Follow me." She leads to me to what I suspect is her desk. She pulls out a folder, and opens it, revealing my preliminary statement. She drags over a chair and lets me read through the statement. She isn't pushy or uninterested. She's just letting me do my work (my reading). It's nice. In a weird 'I'm giving the police a statement' way.

"Morning Beckett!" A happy male voice intrudes on our quiet solitude.

"Castle." Detective Beckett rasps in reply.

Wow. Her voice has changed dramatically. With me she was all smiles and solicitude, with this newcomer she's barely civil.

"Whoa. Somebody woke up on the left side of the bed this morning." He tries to be funny, a little joke to break this strange tension.

It doesn't work.

She ignores him.

Cold shoulder; giving new meaning to icy.

I'm a little in shock that such a pleasant woman could be this mean to someone she works with, but perhaps he stood her up for a date? That would make a certain kind of sense for her behavior. That is if he works with her at all. Or they're allowed to date each other in the police station. That's what all the television shows are telling us these days.

"Beckett … everything okay?" He finally asks. There's definitely an edge of worry there.

This is when I finally look up. I've tried to be polite and respectful of things that aren't my business. But this by-play is just too interesting.

I don't normally like gossip; I don't read magazines because they're always full of hyped-up stories and lies. But this is very interesting. And I've already had to take the day off work to sign these papers; I might as well get some entertainment out of it too.

I sit back slowly, taking great care not to put my pen on the desk. I need to look as if I'm still doing what I came here to do.

That's when the new-comer 'the hot guy' notices me.

"Hello there," he says, an intentionally attractive quality entering his tone of voice, "I'm Rick Castle."

"Sandy Costas." I reply stretching out my hand to meet his in greeting.

"Ah, yes. The innocent and intelligent bystander who managed _not_ to fall over in the presence of a criminal." He quirks a lip in humor at the thought.

"Not everyone can have my graceful poise." I reply. I'm a big fan of the verbal judo.

"Or witty riposte."

"It is a gift." I reply, slightly on the sarcastic side. I make sure my eyes do not skip to Detective Beckett. She is definitely not happy with this development.

She's practically burning with fury, and might I add a tinge of jealousy?

She's staring daggers at Rick. I watch her from the corner of my eye, but make sure that most of my attention is focused on him.

He's completing oblivious to the hate being sent his way.

I wonder what happened to make her hate him so much? It must be something quite important. After all, this woman is a police detective. I'm pretty sure they meet annoying people every day. You can't wander through life hating everyone and living in a perpetual state of annoyance. You'd be sick to your stomach just trying to leave the house, even if you lived alone.

Detective Beckett's eyes are squinting with the amount of self-control she's using right now. I'd be laughing if she weren't slightly terrifying.

I decide to get out of the line of fire and go back to reading my statement. With an ear and eye out for their interactions of course, I deserve some fun after the week I've had!

I run my pen over the words on the page, hovering it over my recollections of last week. The pen acts as my guide, it skims the surface line by line marking my way.

I sneak another peak at Detective Beckett and Rick. I wonder if he's a detective too, but he doesn't seem like one.

He leans in close to her. She's the type of woman I expect to stand her guard. Not be swayed by his blatant invasion of her space, but to my surprise she does lean back. She even scoots her chair out of the way slightly. It's obvious Rick is surprised by her behavior. I think he's starting to catch on to how hateful she is in regard to him.

But surprisingly he seems hurt by it. I thought he already knew she disliked him. I'm missing something, I realize. Cool, now I've got myself a little mystery to work out.

Still holding my pen over the paper, I give my full attention to their little drama.

Detective Beckett hisses at Rick to stop acting childishly.

In shock, he pauses. Completely stills, as if he too has missed what, to Beckett, is obvious. She uses the opportunity to get away. She flounces off to another room, her giant legs taking her there with ease.

He flounders for a minute, until he decides that he certainly hasn't missed any previous clues to the change in her behavior. He follows her.

They must be in the kitchenette. It's the only option I can conceive of, considering I'm the one sitting at her desk. I can hear loud clunking coming from the direction Detective Beckett went. I can hear Rick's voice too; he's excitedly rambling about coffee, espresso, steam. She's definitely ignoring him, if the hiss and whistle of the kettle has anything to say about the matter.

I'm starting to think this is some weird courtship ritual.

I don't know if _they_ realize, but their hissing toned (on the detective's side) and impulsive protestations (on Rick's side) argument is garnering a rather large contingent of spectators (besides me). It seems as if the entire floor has stilled in its work, pens have stopped scratching, keyboards are silent, no one taps. Shoes have stopped scuffing the floor and it's as if the entire city had stopped for this argument. But as I glance around the precinct and look at the faces of these detectives and cops, I know this is not an unusual occurrence, merely an interesting and daily escape from the usual humdrum of criminal life. Criminal paperwork life. I'm sure chasing bad guys down the street is slightly more interesting and pressing than watching/listening to Detective Beckett and Mister Castle argue.

Maybe.

By now, the voices are reaching a higher pitch. I put my pen down, there's no real point in keeping up appearances at the moment. The pair, who know who I am, are currently in another room and everybody in this expansive room aren't doing anything other than what I am either. So, it's all good.

I can kind of see them.

Not really, I'm being idealistic. I can't see them from my position, but if I stand I won't have any excuse should they come back. I know I'm being very much the voyeur but they are just too intriguing.

I may not be able to see them but I can see their movements, because of their shadows on the floor. One willowy and tall, the other slightly more stocky, Detective Beckett moves quickly flitting about like an annoyed bee while Rick stands still utterly confused.

As their fighting reaches a crescendo the other police officers and detectives seem to collectively start moving again. As if there is some group mind knowledge that the duo is going to be reentering the room soon. I'm still slightly surprised when Detective Beckett storms towards her desk, a mug of coffee steaming in her wake.

Rick dawdles uncertainly behind her. He waits at another desk, a little disconsolately. It's clear from his facial expression he still has no idea what has just happened.

Detective Beckett sits down in front of me, huffing with displeasure. She takes a sip of her coffee and grimaces; apparently the local cup is not good. I notice Rick is not having the same reaction to his cup of coffee; although he does not seem to be enjoying it either. But that's probably due to the fight they've just had, not anything to do with the coffee.

"How's the statement coming?" Detective Beckett asks, a bit brusquely. My surprise, and slight shock, must show. She immediately apologizes. "I'm sorry. That was rude."

I could take offense, but you catch more flies with honey than vinegar. "What did he do?" I ask.

"Pardon?"

She's not irritated, just surprised that I would attribute her mood the man hovering at the desk behind us.

"Look. When I arrived you were pleasant. Nice. There's a bunch of other cops here, and you don't seem to be having any problems with them. Then _he_ arrives. Barely says hello, and you turn into Cruella De Ville. Not that that's a problem. Not for me anyway. Kind of funny actually. But, if you have to work with him, you should probably figure out how to control your hatred of him." I know I'm rambling, it's a bad habit. But she doesn't look too put out. I think she's rather surprised that I've taken this much notice.

"I don't hate him." She replies. I think she's going for indignant, but it doesn't quite reach that cadence.

"You don't?" I question.

"No."

I smile then.

"What?" Her face lights up with intrigue, and slight nervousness.

"You like him." I never in a million years would have thought today would be bringing me romantic insights at the precinct.

"Shh." She hisses.

"He can't hear us. He's too busy trying to figure out what he did wrong, and how he's going to fix it!"

She sneaks a look behind her to make sure I'm telling the truth. Which I am.

"If you're not sure what you want to do with this new information. That's understandable. But you shouldn't ruin a perfectly good working relationship because of that."

Her face falls. She must not have thought of that.

"Right now, you've got that poor man freaking out thinking he's done something terrible wrong. Either that, or he's contemplating that you might have some kind of split personality he didn't know about." I add this with a grin, hoping to lessen the impact of my statement.

It half works. But I decide to let the moment ebb away.

"I didn't want this." She finally says. Minutes later … after I've gone back to my statement.

It looks like I'm going to get to be Aunt Abby today!

"Well, sure. That's fine. But it's happened. And he obviously doesn't know about the change of heart. If anything, you're only making it more suspicious."

She's quiet again, and while I don't exactly want to push my luck. I'm not known for my restraint in these matters.

"If you don't know what you want to do about it. Cool. But don't change the relationship for worse simply because you're scared. And hating on the poor man isn't going to help down the track."

"I didn't know how to react today."

"That's obvious." She looks up, probably thinking I'm condemning her. But I'm still smiling; I can't help it if I'm finding this whole situation hilarious.

"Hey!" She cries with a small laugh.

We fall back into silent and comfortable recline.

"I'm done." I state eventually, pushing my papers toward her, "that's everything. But before I go … one thing?"

It's a question.

She realizes I'm not going to say anything without her permission. She finally nods.

"He's nice, intelligent, respectful, _hot_, and even though you've been pricklier than a forest full of nettles and cactuses today, he's still over there wondering what the hell he's done to provoke you and how he's going to fix it." I pause, letting that statement sink in a little.

"That kind of guy … he's totally worth the terrifying jump into a relationship you don't think you're ready for."

Detective Beckett looks at me for a moment. A cool, investigative stare. Then she smiles.

"Thanks." She stands and extends her hand in goodbye.

"Did I help you out any?" I inquire, as I too stand.

She grins mysteriously.

"Oh, I totally did. I can tell." I reply with a smirk of my own.

"Goodbye Miss Costas. It was a pleasure meeting you." She says, as she walks me to the elevator and away from her 'man'.

"Oh, and just so you're aware, I'll be expecting an invite to the wedding."

She barks out a laugh at that, "Ha! Thanks, but I already have one Lanie in my life. I'm not so sure I need another."

"By the sounds of it, I don't think you can ever have too many Lanie's in your life." I reply with a coy grin.

"That's about the right of it." I hear an amused female voice agree near my ear. I turn swiftly to see another beautiful woman gracing the halls of the police station.

Really? Are there no plain people in this building? Did they send all the super model/police to this precinct?

"Lanie, I presume."

"Too true. And who are you?"

Detective Beckett answers for me, "Dr. Parish, may I introduce you to Sandra Costas."

"I'm going to be her bridesmaid at the wedding," Lanie's eyebrow quirks with interest, "you'll be the maid of honor, of course."

"Wedding?" Her voice pitches to an even higher degree.

Beckett laughs again. "Ignore her." She gives me a slight push toward to quickly closing elevator doors.

"I'll be expecting that invite soon."

Just as the doors close, I hear Lanie's voice ringing out "I'll be calling you girl."

* * *

_'Cause I really tried to get my brain and fingers to obey, and write in this is either Beckett's or Castle's POV, but it didn't happen._

_Then I thought, maybe I can do it it Lanie's or Esposito's POV, and that didn't happen either._

_So you got Sandy._

_Hope you don't mind too much. (This is also why this chapter is a little late on the posting time - had to fiddle around with the start multiple times) My apologies.  
_

_Arc.  
_


	7. Chapter 7

_I'm so sorry guys, that it's taken longer than normal to get this up. The chapter was being difficult, as was The Muse. She wanted to skip ahead to the next one, because she's not that muchof fan of the Castle-Angst, but I knew it was necessary to have this here first. Hope you all can forgive me._

_There's also a little ode to my girl Sierra here. It's something she says quite a lot and it's snuck its way into my vocabulary. Or should I say Castle's?

* * *

_

Whiskey Tango Foxtrot!

There might have even been a low toned growl after that thought, I'm not sure.

But those are the three words reverberating through my mind as I stare at my front door, from the inside, for the second time this week.

Thankfully though, my mother is not lurking in the kitchen, guzzling my twelve year old scotch. Not that I like scotch that much, but it's the literary image that always prompts me to keep the liquor cabinet stocked.

Unthankfully, if that's even a word, it's my daughter this time watching me do my silent standoff with the closed door. I don't even want to contemplate the fact that this is not the strangest thing she's ever caught me doing. Let's just say that having your thirteen year old walk in on you reenacting the Tom Cruise/Renee Zellweger 'you had me at hello' speech complete with teary eyes … not one of my favorite memories. So what's a little door-staring between friends, ahem, family.

"Bad day, Dad?" She inquires to the dull scrape of a spoon in a bowl.

I turn.

Ice cream.

I could use some of that.

"Hit me." I respond, as I shirk my way out of my coat. Not quite in the right state of mind to hang it up, it lands quietly over a spare chair as I walk my way toward her.

Alexis smiles briefly, grabbing another bowl and spoon, and scooping me out some delicious, fatty, icy, creamy heaven. I definitely need this right now.

"Should I ask again, or should I leave it?" She tries once more.

I sigh. Thinking. Pondering. Ruminating. Should I burden my daughter with this? Is it that much of a burden? I've put her through so much already. She's already had to deal with failed marriages, my crazy mother, her crazy mother, my fame and crazy stalker-y fans, is it right to burden her with another strange crazy relationship?

"Is it Detective Beckett?" She finally asks, knowing that _she_ usually is the reason for my more morose tendencies.

"That obvious?"

"You have that kicked puppy look about you. What did you do this time?" She says it with affection and a little exasperation. It takes the sting out of her put-down, but I'm affronted that she automatically thinks it's my fault. It's not always my fault.

"Really and truly … I have no idea." My eyebrows lift in agreement to my statement.

"Please, Dad. You've nearly always done _something_."

"Usually. But I really think that this time … I haven't. I didn't. I promise." Something in my expression must have registered with her.

I truly don't know.

She believes me.

"Maybe she was just having a bad day?"

I must look like I don't believe her because she adds, "Even the best of us do, Dad."

I grin a bit, my daughter's too cute not to.

"It was more than an 'I'm annoyed, and you're annoyingly adding to it, Castle' vibe."

"Well, what kind of vibe was it?" Alexis asks as she slides the now full of ice cream bowl toward me.

I pick up the nearest spoon, which happened to be her old one and dig in.

"Ew, Dad! That's gross!"

I ignore her outburst and ponder her question instead.

"Well. It was an 'I really hate you' vibe."

"From Beckett?" Alexis doesn't seem to believe me, and to tell you the truth I wouldn't either, if I hadn't been on the receiving end of the _glare_ for the majority of the day. At least it somewhat dulled after Sandy left. That nice, frazzled, _tiny_ woman eye-witness from the last case, but of course Sandy left _after_ the awful commotion in the break room. Beckett pretty much ignored me from that point on. And I must admit, I left her alone too, spent the rest of the day trying to figure out what had happened between the fantastic chess and dinner night and the horrible fighting, scowling of this morning.

"Yeah." I finally confirm.

"That can't be right. Even when you totally went crazy stalker on her about her mother's case, she didn't hate you."

"She totally hated me then!" I cry in indignation, unknowingly echoing my daughter's pattern of speech.

"No. She was just pissed."

My mouth drops open at the language coming out of my daughter's mouth.

"It's barely a swear word, Dad." She says condescendingly, as if I'm the boring grandfather missing out on all the rad, young teen kids' gnarly slang.

My brow furrows, but I decide to let this one go, "She didn't hate me?"

"She wouldn't have forgiven you so quickly if she really hated you."

"It took months for her to forgive me!" I cry out. A small globule of my ice cream dangling awkwardly off my spoon and finally falling to its messy end onto the kitchen bench.

"Yeah, but she forgave you."

I pause.

"Didn't she!" Alexis adds, mischievously.

"Okay. Yes. She forgave me."

"So, she couldn't have hated you. If she hated you, she wouldn't have forgiven you."

"Okay, okay. I bend to your infinite wisdom."

Her pleased grin slips after a few moments.

"You really didn't do anything?"

"I really think … that I haven't done anything."

Alexis frowns.

I finish my ice cream in silence. It's yumminess not easing my pain or ignorance. No epiphanies for me.

"Dad, I think you should sleep on it. Everything will be okay in the morning."

"That's just the ice cream messing with your usually smart brain." I reply.

"Just go to bed Dad."

I obey. Never let it be said that I don't do as I'm told. Especially by someone as smart and wonderful as my daughter.

_CASTLETIME CASTLETIME_

This just doesn't seem right.

Detective Beckett is not vindictive. She's not mean. She might tease my father … mess around with him, like that time they all pretended he was cursed by that Incan Mummy. But she would never set out to hurt him.

He either did something really bad, but I'm pretty sure my Dad would know he'd done something. Or, it's something else. Something personal, and although she should know better, she's taking it out on my Dad.

That's not acceptable.

I glance at the clock. It's only 8pm. That's still relatively early. If it's after 9pm, you can't call someone. That's just kind of rude. Unless you're really good friends. Which I suppose Detective Beckett and I are, if it were really important I don't think she'd mind if I called her after 9pm. I'm pretty sure I have that privilege, but not for the kind of conversation I'm going to be having with her.

I wish Grams was here. She'd know what to say, over the phone or in person. I have never really done this before. But Dad's really worried, and he deserves to at least be given notice of what he's done wrong. And I know he won't alienate Kate by asking her, so I'm going to have to.

I settle into the couch, and dial Kate's number.

"Beckett."

"Do you always answer your phone like that?" I don't mean for that to be the first thing I say, but it seems I sometimes inherit my parents' predilection for speaking before thinking.

"Yes" she laughs, "it's a habit of my job. What if you had been some neighboring police officer or detective from another precinct? I can't very well just answer with a simple hello. It takes a lot of the guess work out of a phone call if I identify myself first."

But this isn't what I wanted to be talking about with her.

"Detective Beckett." I'm using my grown-up voice now. It's the one I pull out whenever Dad or Mom have done something embarrassing or illegal and I need to pretend to be older than I am to get them out of trouble.

"Uh oh." She responds, with a slight tinge of humor.

"Kate…" My voice changes and she responds accordingly.

"What is it?"

She's worried now, and that's good to know. I'm glad that even though she practically wants to kill my Dad at the moment, she's not going to be taking it out on me. Like my other step-mothers have.

"It's about Dad."

"Is he okay?"

Genuine worry there too.

"Look. I don't know what's going on with you two, but he doesn't know what he did wrong. So you need to tell me so I can clue him in." I decide the best course of action is to just jump in the deep end. I might have said it a bit fast, but it seems as if Detective Beckett has understood me because she automatically tries to apologize to me.

"Alexis I don't-"

"Don't' apologize to me! And don't you dare try and tell me that it's none of my business, he's my Dad!"

"No, Alexis. I wasn't going to- I mean-"

"What?" My question comes out soft, but I'm still quite angry.

"It's not your Dad. He hasn't done anything." She sounds sad.

"If he hasn't done anything, why did he come home thinking he had?"

"I'm sorry, I just… I can't really explain it to you Alexis. It wouldn't be appropriate. But, I will fix this I promise. Is he there?"

I don't think her apology will go over well on the phone. I mean, I'm sure Dad wouldn't mind, but you don't grow up being Martha's granddaughter without learning a few tricks. Detective Beckett needs to apologize in person, so that Dad can charm her. Maybe get an apology kiss or something. It's high time they moved past the mooning phase of their relationship.

"I sent him to bed. He was really upset." It is the truth after all.

"How upset?"

"Ice cream didn't really help."

"Is that supposed to be some Castle-meter of happiness?"

"Yes." My answer is short and to the point, because to learn the meter of happiness as she puts it, you really have to earn that knowledge. There's no way I'm just handing her that scale. It proves your worth.

"Right. Well … Could you maybe, let me in tomorrow morning, say 6.30am? I think it'd be better if I spoke to Castle, your Dad, before we get to the precinct."

"Suurre. I can do that." I furrow my eyebrows at the phone. What is she up to now? As long as it's good for my Dad I'm not too worried.

"I'll let you in."

"Thanks Alexis. And … your Dad's lucky to have someone who cares enough about him to call me up like this."

"I know. He needs to buy me a pony."

"He'd buy you a pony if you asked him to."

"It's not the same if I have to ask."

Beckett laughs, but she doesn't say goodbye before she hangs up. Must be some kind of cop thing.

* * *

_Yep, and hopefully it'll be a quicker move onto the next chapter, because as I said before, The Muse is very excited about that one ;)_

_Arc  
_


	8. Chapter 8

_The last chapter was a bit of a filler chapter, but it needed to be done. _

_Beckett needed to be sorry, and Castle definitely needed to be more angsty than he usually is. And Alexis needed to be awesome. _

_We definitely covered all those aspects._

_Sorry about the lateness of this, my Birthday came too quickly and I wasn't ready for all the LOVE.

* * *

_

I don't know if I can do this.

Do I want to do this?

I'm not entirely sure but I can't let Castle think I hate him, or that yesterday had anything to do with him, well, it had a little to do with him but mostly it was me.

Me and my insecurities. My stupidity and weirdness.

I know, hard to believe, right.

I'm a hard-nosed Detective, one of the best, I get all the crazies. But I'm also a woman. A female. And sometimes, relationship issues just throw me off.

I don't know why, it's not like I never used to talk about these issues with my Mother. We used to have wonderful conversations, and yes, it was harder once she was gone. But I've also dated nice (and bad) guys since then, and enjoyed my time with them. Mostly.

I've dealt with all my relationship issues since losing my Mother, sometimes on my own, but usually I have a girlfriend or two spare to decompress with, I always figure something out.

I usually know what I want, and what I don't, and I have no qualms with expressing my thoughts and feelings.

But this time it's different.

With Castle, it's different.

And so, I went a little stupid, from having two epiphanies within one week.

It happens!

Sometimes your craziness and insecurities just take over and there's nothing you can do to stop it. Maybe if I had more self-control … maybe if I actually knew what I wanted with Castle, maybe then I wouldn't have been so horrible to him yesterday.

The thing is that normally I don't have 'out of the ether of the universe' epiphanies. I don't usually get side-blinded by ideas and feelings.

I normally have a lot of warning about my feelings and thoughts. I'm usually very adept at knowing myself.

I'm sure there are women out there who sometimes get flustered and confused. Women who aren't as in tune with themselves and their desires as I am … was.

I can't help it, or be blamed, if I've finally caught the relationship flu and acted out of the norm because of it.

Right?

Yeah, I don't believe that load of trite either.

At any rate, I really do need to rectify this situation with Castle.

I went home last night and had another melt down.

I was, and still am, really disappointed in myself, and the way I handled Castle.

Rick.

It was never his fault that I realized I'm in like with him.

Although, I can blame him for it, I suppose. It _is_ his fault I like him.

If I wasn't feeling bad enough for the majority of the night, then sweet, beautiful Alexis just had to go and add her two cents in.

She's sticking up for her Dad; I would do the same thing. It's just humbling that a sixteen year old had to school me in the ways of proper friendships. Relationships.

Now I'm doubly embarrassed but doubly determined to fix this.

Only, I'm not sure how.

I could go and apologize for my bad behavior and everything would go back to normal.

But do I want that?

I don't think I do.

Maybe it's time that I stop being such a coward. Stop being such a damsel in distress, waiting for the Prince on his majestic steed to come and save me.

I'm no princess, and I can take care of myself.

I can take care of what I need, and what I want.

And we've already established that what I want and need is Castle.

So, why am I waiting for him to do something about it?

He's already expressed his interest in me in multiple ways.

I have the approval stamp from Lanie, Alexis and Martha. Even Ryan and Esposito have taken him under their wing. They never took to Sorensen like that.

I'm not good with words. That's Castle's forte.

I'm better at doing things; making the changes that need to be made, shooting the bad guy, breaking the bad guy through interrogation.

I'm great with the bad guys!

I'm hopeless with the good guys.

My last significant relationship, Sorensen, ended because I wasn't going to uproot my entire life for a maybe. I wasn't going to be one of those wives, scratch that – we weren't even that far along in our relationship – one of those girl friends, who follows their partner around the country, giving up their dreams and ambitions for those of their significant other. Especially when it was obvious that he thought his career was more important that mine. That in hindsight he probably didn't care about my dreams and ambitions.

Castle doesn't think that way. He has his own career and I have mine, and our careers slightly intersect, and he is taking advantage of that fact right now, but he's not going to be around here forever.

He's not going to be around me forever.

We'll probably still be friends. Somewhat.

But, since I'm being brutally honest with myself right now, I don't want to be just friends with Castle.

I want more.

And if I want more, then I need to let him know that because, for as much as he pesters and prods me, he'll probably never do any more than that. He's already screwed up enough; he won't push for more than he thinks I'm ready for. I can see that look in his eyes sometimes. When he wants to say something, do something more, but won't for fear of retribution. And while I do like that power over him, I want him to push, I want him to prod, and wheedle and work his way under my guard, around my defenses. I want him to know me, to tease me in more than a friendship capacity.

I want Castle with me.

But first I need to let him know that.

CASTLERESIDENCE

I woke up at 6am, very excited.

Detective Beckett is coming over this morning to _apologize_ to my Father.

She definitely owes him one, from the tone of our conversation yesterday.

The fact is though I'm not quite ready to get dressed. So I decide to snuggle down on the sofa and put MTV on very quietly. I don't want to wake up Dad.

I'm not really watching it though. My eyes keep flicking to the clock, watching those numbers count upwards.

Waiting for Detective Beckett to appear.

At 6.28am there's a soft knock on the front door.

Eager - and scared - much?

A grin threatens my face.

I tuck a flyaway strand of my hair behind my ear. It has to be Detective Beckett; no one else would be so quiet and respectful. She's probably hoping my Dad isn't awake.

I slip over my socked feet as I head to the door. Thankfully since our floors are kept well cleaned, I manage to slide to the door and not fall over. That would be slightly embarrassing since I'm really intrigued and happy that Detective Beckett is going to _finally_ do something about their attraction to each other.

I've been waiting long enough.

Dad's still asleep; I don't think he slept well though. He never does when he knows Detective Beckett's upset.

I open the door and she greets me sheepishly. "Morning, Alexis."

"Morning, Detective Beckett."

I really do smile this time. It's like she's waiting for me to tell her off like a scolded puppy.

"How many times do I have to tell you, call me Kate."

"I dunno. 'Til it sticks?" I grab her hand and pull her inside the apartment. Not really, I don't intend to wait till it sticks. It already does. It's a conscious decision for me to call her Detective Beckett. I'm only going to call her Kate when she becomes more than my Dad's work colleague and muse. I know that they consider themselves friends, but I want them to be more than friends. My Dad deserves someone as awesome as Detective Beckett, and she deserves some more Castle-Fun in her life. It's a win-win situation.

"Is your Dad around?" She's looking around the room, as if she expects him to pop up and maim her for her recent behavior, not that I'd blame him if he did.

"He's still asleep, thought I'd give you a chance to explain yourself." I say it in my best tv mom voice.

Kate's forehead furrows. "I don't think that's really appropriate Alexis."

"Why not?" _Best innocent voice EVER!_

"I really want to discuss this … explain this to your Father first. He deserves that at least."

"Agreed." I sigh, I really wanted all the goss before he woke though. Guess I'll just have to make do with watching the drama unfold.

After a few more moments of slightly awkward silence she finally asks, "So, where's his bedroom?"

"Up there." I point in the direction, "Last door down the corridor."

"Thanks Alexis."

I heave a sigh again as she leaves. Now I won't get to watch the drama unfold. There's no way I'm accompanying her to my Father's room. Who knows what might happen?

I think I'll go to my room and put some music on but through my ipod. I don't want to wake up my Dad before Kate's ready.

CASTLEBECKETTBEDROOM

His room is dark. Darker than I expected it to be.

I can see the outline of a body under the blankets on the bed. I tiptoe forward, squeezing my way through the door, and stepping lightly over the carpet to where Castle is.

I try to breathe as quietly as I can. I still haven't totally made up my mind about how to apologize to Castle.

I have two ways I can go about this.

I can confront him with an apology and let him guide our reunion. But I am tired of waiting for him to take control. And if I do apologize then he might just accept it and take us back into friendship/teasing categories.

I don't want that.

But I also don't know how to tell him that I want more.

I don't know if I can reveal that much of myself right now.

It's horrible to know that I'm such a coward when it comes to Castle and more-than-friendship.

I slowly lower myself onto his bed. I'm sitting beside him, my legs folded onto the ground.

I'm still deliberating and watching Castle sleep. He looks so peaceful and warm.

His alarm goes off, and I jump.

One of his hands flies out and hits the snooze button. He grumbles a little and snuggles further into his blankets.

I check the time.

Wow, it's seven.

I've been watching him sleep for almost twenty minutes.

I reach over Castle and turn the alarm off.

We like to tease each other, it's part of our courtship dance or something.

I decide on a course of action.

I lean down by Castle's ear and whisper, "You can kiss me until it's time to leave for work."

I wait for a few seconds to see if he heard me, he mumbles a reply.

I don't know what he said, so I add some more information, "I'll be in the kitchen while you get ready."

I quickly, but quietly, leave his room.

I know that was spineless of me.

Somewhat.

But I don't know how to say the things I want to say.

I know how to do things, and Castle understands actions better than most people.

He also understands me really well. I don't just kiss anyone. My relationships with people are more serious than his seem to be.

Actually that's not very fair of me. His relationship used to be pretty base in nature. But lately he hasn't been dating. He hasn't been the wild author child-man about town. He's been quite reserved saving all his innuendo and flirtations for me.

Now I can fully return the favor.

I have been getting tired of being the staid, respectable one.

I'm back in the kitchen now. I decide to make myself a coffee while I wait to see how long it takes his sleep muddled brain to kick into gear.

I am taking the easy way out, but it wouldn't be our relationship if we didn't play games with one another.

I do hope he hurries up though.

I would like to kiss him today before work.

Wait.

Something about this plan doesn't track well.

What is it?

Damn.

If he doesn't get down here in time, I might not get to kiss him at all. I didn't plan this very well.

That's probably because I didn't plan this. It just sort of happened.

_Hurry up, Castle._

CASTLEBECKETTKITCHEN

I'm racing down the stairs. As much as one can race when they're not entirely sure that what they think they heard in the muddled aural symphony of dozing wakefulness occurred or not.

I think I heard someone say that I could kiss them until we have to leave for work.

And there's only two women that frequent this house.

Alexis, my daughter; so that's a no.

Martha, my mother; also a no.

It could be Deep Fried Twinkie, but she wouldn't sexily whisper in my ear. She's just randomly jump me in bed and try to start things off herself.

It might be Gina, and perhaps at one time it could have been, but I don't think so right now. We're having a very strictly business-like relationship. We still enjoy the 'hating each others guts' samba.

So that only really leaves three other women who would have early morning access to my house. Because they'd have to either have a key or Alexis would have had to let them in. That leaves, our housekeeper – which is just really wrong – or Lanie, there's a really weird possibility it could be her, but we don't have that attraction thing going on, maybe if I had met her before Beckett, but even then, not really, because as soon as I met Beckett everything would have gone out the window. So that leaves Beckett. But why would she be in my apartment waiting for me to kiss her?

It must have been a dream.

Only it's not.

Because standing in my kitchen with a steaming cup of coffee is a fully dressed and ready for work Beckett.

I raise an eyebrow at her.

She raises one back.

There's a slight smirk on her face. She knows something I don't.

I double check my clothes. My fly's not undone, is it?

No.

Shirt, check.

Pants, check.

Shoes, check.

Watch, check.

I had a shower, so my face is clean, and my hair is brushed, so it can't be anything she's seeing.

What could it be?

Maybe she did really come into my bedroom and whisper I could kiss her. Is she waiting for me to do it?

What if that was just a really awesome dream?

I can't just go over to her and kiss her randomly if it was just a dream. She'll freak out, and/or wallop me.

"Good Morning." I say, hoping that she's going to give me a clue about what's going on.

"Morning." Her voice is husky. Gorgeous. I amble forward, trying to get closer. As much as you can get closer to someone when they're the only other person in the apartment and you aren't romantically involved.

"I had the weirdest dream."

"Oh." She doesn't sound too interested. But I continue on.

"Yeah, it was odd."

There's this strange beat of silence between us.

"Are you going to explain it for me?"

"No."

"Then why did you tell me in the first place?" She's puzzled but intrigued. AND she's not yelling at me, so that's a vast improvement from yesterday.

"Why are you here?" I finally ask. I am incredibly grateful that she is here, but her demeanor is such a stark difference from yesterday that I worried I'm still asleep, and that this is all some kind of wonderful dream. That I will wake up and she'll still be mad at me for unknown reasons.

She smiles mysteriously at me, her head nodding down. Just like it does when she's about to flirt with someone, namely me.

I first noticed it when she left me stock still in shock after that first case. The one where I realized I had found my new muse. But it has repeated itself many times in my presence. It's one of her tells. One that I'm never going to tell her I know.

"Do you want me to leave?" There's a slight nuance of insecurity in her voice. A tenderness that belies her normally stoic attitude.

"Never." I am serious about that statement.

"So, you want me to stay."

"Definitely."

"What are we going to do until it's time to leave for work?" It's a simple question. There's no guile in it. At least, there shouldn't be, but for some reason it strikes an echo in me. That last bit is definitely what dream female said just before I woke up.

She grins at my expression.

Another raise of my eyebrow and I'm pretty sure that Beckett's just moved our game in a new direction. Before I can do anything about it, there's a thundering down the stairs.

"Bye, guys! See you later."

It's Alexis. I turn to watch her leave hoping for some kind of eye contact recognition, but she's quite clearly _not_ looking in our direction.

She's trying to give us some privacy I realize. More so than just her remaining in her room.

"Bye Alexis." Kate say, drawing my attention back to the mischievous woman beside me.

I sidle beside her. Crowding her between the kitchen bench and my body. She lets me.

That's when I'm 95% sure that Beckett was in my bedroom this morning. But to be 100% sure, there's going to have to be some kissing action.

Sealing the deal.

I lean in. My gaze flicking from her mouth to her eyes.

There's anticipation there. Want.

She swallows slightly, just before our lips meet.

Except they don't meet.

Unfortunately for us murder doesn't rest.

Her phone rings at THE WORST TIME. And it's so cliché I laugh.

"Beckett."

"Yep."

"Yep."

"Uhuh, okay."

"Where?"

"Right, of course. Sure."

"No, I'll get Castle. I was headed over that way anyway." Her eyes flick to me at the lie. I'm not about to reveal this development to anyone at the station either. Not until I've had some more of the perks.

She sighs, "Yes. To apologize. I was an ass yesterday."

She makes a 'harrumphing' sound after that, as if she's already been told off by somebody and this telling off is only making her angrier.

It's good to know that at least she is sorry for yesterday. But it brings up some interesting questions. Mostly, why was she behaving that way yesterday, why she is here this morning (other than fulfilling some of my desires) and how she thinks letting me kiss her is an adequate apology.

Which it totally is, but she doesn't need to know that yet!

She clicks the phone shut, "we have a body."

"I gathered."

"We have to get going." She makes her way to the front door.

"Hang on!" I cry.

She stops and turns to face me.

"I thought I was entitled to kiss you until we had to go to work. I've still got half an hour."

"That was before we had a body in a highly publicized area. We need to get over there right now."

"But nobody will know that you were already here. It could plausibly take you about half an hour to get to me."

"Fifteen minutes max, from my place to here."

"Well, that gives us fifteen minutes before we have to leave."

"Nice try Castle. I already told Esposito that I was on my way here to apologize. They can count you know."

"So apologize." I state, waiting expectantly for that promised kiss.

"Castle." She groans, "You took too long getting ready."

I think she's being serious.

"Seriously? You serve me up a golden platter of promise only to snatch it away at the first sign of murder?"

"Rick." She whispers, leaning into me. Our faces inches apart. "There'll be other chances. I promise."

"I only believe verbal contracts when they're sealed with a kiss."

She smirks then, but a hand reaches up and grabs my chin.

"Fine." She huffs.

I stare expectantly. I'm not going to miss this moment.

She's one inch away now, moving so slowly I feel like I'm being tortured.

Just as our lips actually touch, soft pressure tingling, her phone rings again.

"Leave it." I mumble into her lips, "just…"

But it's too late she's already picking up again.

"Beckett."

"Yes Lanie."

"I've got Castle; we'll be there in ten."

I know that we're not going to be able to get back to this conversation for a while. But I can't resist having one last dig at her.

"Just so we're clear. You came onto me." She quirks an unimpressed eyebrow at me while I close the door.

"Hey, you initiated the first kiss. Twice!"

"We've only kissed once Castle."

"Yes. But-" I hold up my index finger to make my point, "you gave me the option for kissing first. And then you held me down and actually kissed me."

"I didn't hold you down! I stilled you."

"There was definite lack of movement on my part, at the bequest of your hand."

"Hey," Her hand slaps my lapel, "and think, I offered you at least an hour's worth of kissing time. You're the one who dawdled and missed out."

I don't have a comeback for that one. Damn it.

"That's beside the point my dear detective."

"How can that be beside the point?"

We're arguing in an elevator. That's so 80's PI TV show of us.

"It just is." Ha! Take that Beckett.

"You're the one that reduced our first kiss to a quick, almost non-existent peck." _I think she's actually pissed off about that._

"Well, that I can fix."

I lunge, stabbing at the stop button on the elevator while I continue to my destination: Kate Beckett.


	9. Chapter 9

_Sorry about the wait people. But this needed to be right. I hope I've not disappointed anyone.

* * *

_

_Stupid Castle! _

_Waiting for so long that our first kiss is reduced to a peck. Something you give your grandmother on her cheek at Christmas. _

_We're arguing about something else, not arguing exactly. We're bantering. I love bantering with Castle, and now there's a definite romance-y edge to it – which is really gorgeous. But I am annoyed. I wanted the rush of adrenaline, the endorphins, the feelings of our 'thing'. I wanted our first kiss to epitomize the passion and desire of the past (almost) two years of acquaintance. _

_He ruined it._

_Okay, so it wasn't his fault, exactly. I am partly to blame for the lack of kissing awesomeness, but …_

"That's beside the point my dear detective." I hear Rick say. It might be a good idea for me to tune back in to the conversation.

"How can that be beside the point?" I know I'm right but I'm not exactly following the trains of thought here.

"It just is." See, I told you I was right, Castle can't even think of an appropriate comeback. That's when I can't take it anymore.

I blurt out "You're the one that reduced our first kiss to a quick, almost non-existent peck."

Castle just looks at me.

He looks at me like he does when he's trying to figure me out. Or has just figured something out, I'm never quite sure which.

"Well, that I can fix." He states and before I have time to consciously realize what he's saying, he's moving.

He pushes a button, I'm pretty sure it was the 'stop' button – because really why would he be moving toward me and pushing the third floor button? But before I get too much of a chance to think about that, my eyes are drawn back to his fast moving body once again.

He leans, or lunges, or leaps, pushing me gently but firmly back against the wall of the elevator. I can feel the hardness of the wall and the firm warmth of Castle through his jacket.

His hands are on my body, one on my neck steadying my head and one on my hip holding me against the wall.

He must be able to feel my pulse going like crazy. His thumb is directly on my throat, he can definitely feel my every movement.

I don't even get the chance to swallow because his mouth is already on mine. Kissing me with a passionate intention I wasn't entirely sure he had.

It's not that I think Castle isn't an intentional kind of guy. But I have been friends with him for a while now, and have had to deal with his Deep Fried Twinkie ramblings as well as his dalliances with _Nikki Heat_ enthusiasts. So I know that he's not exactly known for his intentional passions.

He is known for his passions, just not with this kind of intent.

I kind of thought he was more the flighty, 'let's have fun' kisser. Not this all encompassing, I'm literally being held up by the wall and his hands, kind of kiss.

And yes, I am embarrassed that I've thought a lot about this subject.

All of these thoughts flit through my head quickly, so quickly that I'm kissing him back before I even realize what's actually happening.

I am actually making out with Castle in a stopped elevator.

It's so cliché, but epically wonderful.

We are in a very public place, enjoying our second first kiss, our proper first kiss, the second kiss for the first time or is it the first kiss for the second time? I don't know but what I do know is that our first actual meeting of the lips was in his apartment building on our way to a murder.

Oh yeah, the murder.

That reminds me … I don't want to, but I know I have to … I slow down our kiss.

Castle gets the idea, he slows down too, but we don't want to stop kissing, and that's quite obvious.

We're slowly, languidly kissing each other, reveling in the tingling and soft pressure of our mouths working together.

We really do need to stop.

I grin into the kiss. The force of Castle … Rick … trying to keep kissing me causes his mouth to ram into my teeth.

I vaguely hear his 'ow' echoing in the small space as he maneuvers my head more to the right.

It's about this point that I realize I'm going to have to be more proactive about getting his wonderful, gorgeous mouth off of me.

The only problem with my magnificent plan is that I don't actually want him to stop kissing me. But I do have a job to do, and my entire team (well, all the people I consider my team) are waiting for me at the crime scene.

"Mm, Castle" I mumble into his mouth.

He kisses me again.

"No" I whine.

Can you believe it? I'm actually whining at Castle. I do not whine.

He kisses me again.

"Stop," at this point I laugh, a girlish giggle erupting within the confines of the elevator.

"No stopping" he mumbles back.

We really do need to stop.

Really.

"Murder." I manage to say.

And this is the thing that finally gets his attention.

He kisses me slowly one last time, and pulls away. His warm wandering hands flatten and straighten my shirt. It's become bunched up. I make an educated guess that at one point he must have purposefully un-tucked it so he could touch my skin.

I'm definitely not complaining.

Only,_ how did miss that?_

My face feels flushed. I lift a hand to my cheek, and it definitely feels warm.

"You look great." He states.

I quirk my eyebrow.

"Thoroughly kissed." He smirks.

"If I still look like this at the crime scene, I'm not getting out of the car."

Castle – I need to stop doing that – RICK laughs.

He un-stops the elevator and we travel down. The doors open and I try not to think about the fact that we just did what we did in that elevator. I'm usually more private than that. It seems that Castle, RICK, brings out the wilder sides of me. I'm not complaining.

I drive, because I actually know where we're going. Rick is quiet and I think I'm grateful. Then I remember what he said before he kissed me.

"Well Rick…"

He turns to me in surprise.

_Yes, Rick, I am calling you by your first name, stop with the stunned mullet look._

"You definitely are a fix-it man, aren't you?"

He smiles his cocky grin. The one where he knows he's right and that you have to actually admit it because you're an honorable person, and he deserves recognition sometimes.

On very occasional and sporadic moments.

Our gaze is interrupted by flashing lights. Red and blue.

"Do I look okay?" Asking like the inner girl I am.

"You look great."

"Castle."

"Definitely unkissed. Which I personally think is a great shame." He's serious though, so I take the comment at face value.

There's a background noise of reporters scrambling for attention and taking good shots of the crime scene. This is why I really hate high profile body dump sites. There's always the extra hassle of keeping the story-mongers off the scent.

And I somehow always end up on the nightly news leaning over a blanketed body either talking intensely with the coroner or barking orders at Ryan and Esposito. Great looks for getting dates.

Not that I have to worry about that anytime soon.

CASTLEATTHECRIMESCENE

Heaven. He was in Heaven. From kissing. He was in Heaven from kissing.

He knew you could be in heaven from other _things_ but he never really knew that simply, not that it was simple, and only kissing could catapult you into heaven, but she did.

Kissing Beckett. Kissing Kate did that for him.

Put him in Heaven.

And surprisingly he was still in heaven. Standing over another deceased person, with cops teeming and reporters with their dictaphones, microphones, cameras, flashing lights and screaming, annoying voices yelling and competing for prominence, he was still there. On the ninth or seventh cloud, the one that laughed in the face of silver linings.

He controlled his face though. This was no time for smiling and being happy.

He needed to be far, far away from The Elevator Incident. For now at least. He could ponder on it later.

Everything was finally coming together, after all the waiting, and messing up, all the misunderstandings and grievous mistakes (particularly on his part) he and Kate were finally, actually moving forward. They were done with the simply friends part of their acquaintance and were well on their way to romantic involvements.

But for the first time, Richard Castle wanted to take things slow. He did not want to rush this. This had been a long time coming and they deserved the right to dwell in and savor every moment of the new development.

But back to focusing on the crime scene and the dead body – the murder - that had interrupted their pleasant kissing time. It was a male, around forty, graying hair and significantly lacking in the distinguished looks department. But his body was mangled badly, like someone had tried to tie his body around the statue in the plaza. As if his skin was wrapping paper and his bones were getting in the way.

The wallet professed the man to be Walter Rappel, single and unattached. The victim wasn't a high society member, and for a minute his brain tried to figure out why there were so many reporters hanging around.

Then he realized they weren't there for the victim, _he_ wasn't of any importance to them. They were here for the fact that Mr. Rappel was wrapped around the statue.

"Liver temp indicates he died around 2am." Lanie's voice stated, suddenly interrupting his thoughts.

"Before or after?" Ryan asked.

Esposito entered the conversation before Lanie had a chance to respond, "It doesn't matter, there's an ATM over there. They have cameras. I think it has clear-ish view of the plaza."

"Go check it out." Beckett ordered.

Ryan and Esposito left as ordered.

"So, did she apologize like she told me this morning she would?" Lanie asked, glancing up from the deceased Mr. Rappel.

I pause; taking the time to think back to the morning.

Beckett freezes.

I know exactly what she is thinking. She's trying to decide how she would have reacted if she had merely apologized with words instead of teasing and kisses.

That's when I smirk, "Oh, she did more than apologize."

"Castle!" Beckett hissed.

Lanie's ears and eyes perked up at the new development. "Really?"

"Really." I respond.

"Really!" Beckett groans in exasperation.

"Girl, we are definitely going out for lunch today." Lanie said, "and you (she said nodding toward him), we're having a very long discussion about what this apology entailed."

He was about to respond with some smart retort, but the look on Beckett's face stopped him. It was her scared face. One she didn't get very often.

This is important, he realized.

She needed more time, before people, even Lanie, started making fun of their relationship. Because that's what they had now: a relationship.

"Ah, rain check on that one, thanks." He replied.

Lanie stiffened at the imagined insult, but a quick skip to Beckett's entirely relieved face gave her the answer she was looking for.

"Right." She responded.

"Right." He said happily, glad that that little disaster was averted.

"Right!" Beckett exclaimed, pushing up off her knees.

Without sparing either of them a second look, she walked briskly back to her car. There wasn't much more for them to do here, now that they'd seen the scene and the body.

"So … she apologized." Lanie repeats, just to make sure he thinks.

"Yep."

"But you can't tell me how." She adds.

"Not can't. Won't. Not yet anyway."

There's a silence while she contemplates what that could mean. But Lanie knows Kate well. She'll figure it out soon.

"But it was good. Really good. Really, really good."

Lanie's face lights up as she looks at me.

"Good. Really good." She repeats, once again.

"Nice to know you understand."

"I will be picking up that rain check." She says, smiling the whole time.

"And maybe by the time you do, it'll be a downpour." _Oh, I know right, I totally scarpered off with that rain analogy_. _Nice!_

Lanie shakes her head in amused disgust.

I turn and make my way to the car, with the other half of my relationship is sitting in the front seat.

My other half.

I like the sound of that.

* * *

_The End._

_So, is that a satisying ending?_

_I hope so._

_Oh, and if anyone wants to know. They do find poor Walter's killer. The ATM camera served justice once more!_

_Arc  
_


End file.
